The Hammer Falls
by PersonalFable
Summary: Mankind is spreading across the galaxy in the Great crusade. A thousand, thousand worlds have been reclaimed by the armies of the Emperor of Mankind. This is the tale of when the Eagle came to Lyra.  KP/Warhammer 40k fusion
1. Chapter 1

Carrion birds circled high overhead, the searing heat and soaring humidity added to the almost palatable tension swimming in the air.

All around her the walls of the fortress, the mightiest on the planet, buzzed with activity. Men in crisp uniforms rushed around restocking ammunition along the length of the walls, while three stories down on the ground teams of men strung high grade steel barb wire in intricate lines of defense. Pillboxes hastily constructed, the fast drying concrete still damp in some, were packed with explosive ordinance and ammunition for the auto cannons. A flat field leading up to the gates of the mighty bastion had been cleared a full mile deep, minefields and tank traps already in place to slow and break up enemy advance. Trenches had been cut in the field, more pillboxes and lines of barb wire already sprouting up in the distance. Two score flak cannons where inter spaced through the fortress, rendering an assault by air all but impossible. Small but powerful batteries of artillery had been drug up to the top of the walls, anti personnel and high explosive rounds stockpiled in readily available ammo dumps near the weapons. Each cannon had a small bunker built around the piece, where the men operating the cannon could shelter as the battle raged, protected from fire as they rained death on the foes.

Kim stood on the walls, her own uniform crisp and fresh, going over the planned defense with some of the greatest minds on the planet. The fortress Behemoth, one of several spread across the planet in key locations, straddled the only pass into the planetary capital, and was crucial in the cities defense in the conflict. Ten thousand men stood ready to defend it, an open road to the capital making siege impossible, a full tank battalion was forward deployed in support.

It was all but invincible.

Yet...

Kim couldn't suppress a shiver of fear as they discussed the coming storm. They had held the so called imperial guard for weeks, pushing back attack after attack with ease. She had lost count of the number of men she had killed, moving back and forth from the front lines of defense to the capital were she helped coordinate the planet wide defense against the invaders. It was going well, the initial attacks repulsed by the well drilled and veteran defenders. Her planet had survived old night, the predation of vile aliens, and the horrors of rouge psykers.

She was proud when her leaders, a coalition of governments dubbed The nine, had declined to join the so called emperor of mankind and his great crusade. True they had lost in the initial battles in space, their out numbered fleet decimated by a perfectly organised strike, but they had dug in and resisted the invaders all across the planet. Moral was high.

Then, about a month ago, the enemy had pulled back beyond the range of the forts artillery and dug in, seemingly waiting for reinforcements. Communication had poured in from around the planet, each one detailing that the enemy had pulled back all across the planet. The defenders, including Kim's own battalion the Howling Banshees, had wasted no time in fortifying their defenses. Teams of analysts were creating new strategies based on the latest battles, and already new weapons previously in development were in the process of being mass produced and shipped to the front lines.

"And with the road cleared away our effective zone of engagement has increased by at least fifty percent due to the new land mines and defenses currently under construction." Major Harkshen puffed up his chest with pride, tapping the map he held. "They can attack until hell freezes over, nothing is going to pierce out defenses ma'am."

Kim nodded, pushing a few stray locks of hair out of her face and back under her cap as she surveyed the construction.

"And our reserves?"

Harkshen turned, directing his commander's gaze to the steady stream of trucks and heavy lifters coming into the base. "Almost completely topped off ma'am. Within the hour we'll be fully stocked and ready to give em hell once they come knocking again."

Pursing her lips Kim nodded again, shielding her view against the glare of the sun. The spires of Nyshon, the capital, barely visible in the distance. "What worries me is why they've stopped attacking Major. Obviously they can see us shoring up our defenses,..." Kim shook her head. "It doesn't make sense. Mark my words Major, the worst is yet to come. I want round the clock surveillance of the forces ranged against us. If they so much as break wind in our direction notify me immediately."

Harkshen snapped to attention with a crisp salute. "Ma'am!"

"And get me a flight to the capital...I don't like this. I want to make sure we're ready for whatever the Imperium has to throw at us."

Far in the depths of space, a swirling vortex opened. A maelstrom of colors swirled into existence, colors far beyond the understanding of man swirling and fading as several majestic ships ripped forth from the newly opened hole in space, as if the dimensions beyond simply could not hold the majesty of the vessels any longer. The newly arrived ships were massive, fully two kilometers long, and emblazoned with a drop of blood backed by wings of the purest white. The ships themselves were a deep red, and glorious to behold. Like old earth cathedrals given flight, the spires rose in perfect complement to the arches and buttresses supporting them. The ship at the center of the formation was a wonder to behold, the sheer glory of her vision enough to make even her enemies pause in awe of the perfection of its construction. It was the _Angel's Lament_, flagship of the primarch of the Blood Angels, Sanguinius.

The fleet moved with all speed to a position of high anchor above the planet, taking the place of honor above the planetary capital.

On board the _Angel's Lament_, Tilious, captain of the first company of Astartes, was already making his way to The Sanctuary. His helm and sword held by the menials that accompanied him, he silently walked along the path of Ascension. Each wall of the path was shod in soft muted gold, the silver and onyx veined marble echoed under his armored feet as he walked. The walls of the path itself were covered in scrolling high gothic, the names of fallen hero's of the legion inscribed for all to see. Every ten feet he passed two warriors clad in exquisitely detailed terminator armor. The drop of blood and wings, heraldry of his legion, center in each of their breastplates. Cloaks of the purist white draped each armored warrior. They were the Seraphim, guardians of the path, and personal guard of the primarch himself. The fiercest fighting force in the legion, they would die to a man before they allowed any harm to befall the primarch.

Pausing, Tilious took his sword and helm for the menials following him, dismissing them as he gazed up at the gates of The Sanctuary, Sanguinius himself depicted in perfect detail kneeling at the feet of the Emperor. Gathering himself he pushed the door wide. The inside of The Sanctuary was pure white marble, solid Nalwood benches, fully twenty feet wide, stretched nearly a hundred feet, coming within ten feet of a raised platform. Generals and dignitaries of the 43rd expedition crammed the benches full talking in hushed tones. Red robed adepts of the Mechanicum were interspersed among the gathered peoples, many opting to stand to the sides of the benches. A blood red carpet separated the two rows of benches down the center of the massive room, leading up a series of steps to an ornate, throne like chair, a solid gold door beyond it.

Over head a breath taking mural depicting The Emperor of mankind in all his glory stood watch over the gathered masses, hanging braziers burning incense sweetening the air. Tilious made his way down the carpeted path, taking his place in a smaller seat at the right hand of the throne. He placed his helm on the ground between his feet before laying the sword across his lap. His brother captain, Ronarious of the second company, entered next. The two stole a glance at each other, Ronarious opening his mouth to speak only to close it immediately as a soft chorus, the melody and pitch wonderous, filled the room as the golden door behind the throne slowly opened. The chamber fell into a deathly hush and both captains rose to their feet, both fighting the urge to kneel before the vision of perfection that entered the room. Fully twelve feet tall, Sanguinius walked into the chamber slowly. His face was achingly beautiful. Clothed in a pure white robe with a cord of gold the primarch was majesty given flesh, a Hellenistic statue given life. Angelic wings spread from the primarch's back, swaying gently with his step as he made his way to the throne and sat.

Sanguinius' gaze swept the room for a moment, the intelligence in the orbs almost impossible to comprehend. "My friends...it gladdens my heart to see so many familiar and dear faces gathered here today. Were it only for a better occasion. It saddens me that we meet under the circumstances of war."

Many in the audience nodded, most still to stunned by the Primarch to do anything but stare, entranced by his musical voice.

"News reached me of the 43rds troubles many weeks ago, but alas even I may not make the warp move to my wishes. Tell me...what troubles this arm of the Great Crusade?"

One of the men in the front row, Lord General Bramas, smoothly stood, bowing low. Hidden holographic projectors sprang to life, showing the planet below. Twenty masses of red were marked across the surface of the globe, and Bramas motioned to one of them, the fortress Behemoth replaced the planet, rendered in absolute detail.

"My Lord the planet below is well defended. Unified governments control the population and industry across the planet, making them a determined and capable foe. My armies have ranged across the planet for months, being blocked at every turn. Mighty fortresses, such as this one, secure every place of value, and we have lost tens of thousands of men in this campaign. We simply cannot afford the attrition of bringing down these massive compounds."

Swallowing nervously at the primarchs unreadable expression Bramas continued.

"My lord I beg of you...mere mortals cannot take such a place with speed. It would take us years, maybe decades, to conquer even half of these compounds. We humbly request your aid."

Sanguinius nodded, Bramas bowing again before taking his seat.

"What say you Tilious? Is the might of the Legion needed here?"

Tilious stood, bowing low to his primarch.

"My lord he speaks the truth. While I'm certain Lord Bramas and his men would eventually emerge victorious, the cost of men and materials required to do so would almost break the 43rd expedition. The Legions strength is the only thing that will have this world secured with speed."

Sanguinius turned a glance to Ronarious. "Are you in agreement Ronarious?"

Ronarious stood, bowing as Tilious had before him. "Yes my lord, though I say so with reluctance. I am loath to release the might of the Legion against any lost strand of mankind...but in this case it is necessary."

Sanguinius stood, the gathered masses rising as he did.

"I am in agreement. Would that they only have listened to reason this would not be necessary... "

He sighed, shaking his head.

"Make ready the Legion."


	2. Chapter 2

Authors note : Thanks for the views and reviews! Here's hoping I can continue to meet and exceed every ones expectations!

All throughout the _Angels Lament_ and her picket fleet the message of war had been broadcast. Deck hands and the menials of the legion rushed about at a zealous pace, loading armaments into the storm birds and thunder hawks of the legion. Adepts of the Mechanicum read the rites of activation and maintenance over the various heavy armored units that would accompany the legion into the battle field. Deep inside the mighty vessels the massed ranks of the Blood Angels space marine legion readied their wargear. Bolters were zeroed in and serviced, the explosive armor penetrating ammunition checked and rechecked. Powerfists and chainfists were activated and calibrated, each weapons power field more than capable of punching through the heavy armor plating of a tank, to ensure their charge and operation on the field.

The armor each marine wore was exquisitely made, the traditional deep red of the legion replaced by the purest white. The shoulder plates, sections of the breastplate and accent lines up the arms and legs of each warrior was trimmed in gold, marking them as terminators of the first company, known throughout the legion as The Redeemers. While terminator armor was less agile than the mark IV plate issued to the rest of the legion, it made up for that loss by making the wearer virtually invulnerable to any ballistic attack. What would punch clean through regular asartes plate would barely scratch terminator armor. Rocket launchers, reaper auto cannons, and other built in heavy weapons ensured each marine was more than capable of meeting any foe on the field of battle. Choral servitors intoned the litany of fury as they fluttered overhead on their repulsor fields, their long dead faces replaced with speakers, filling the barracks with song.

Tilious stood at the front of his company, pride swelling in his chest as he watched his men, his brothers, prepare for battle. After the weapon checks were finished every marine fell into formation in front of Tilious, bowing their heads as the first company chaplain, Saturion, made his way to the front of the company. Unlike the rest of the company Saturion was clad in midnight black mark IV power armor. The shoulder pads were trimmed in gold, the elbows and knee pads fashioned into what looked like soot stained skulls. The helmet, unlike the standard space marine helmet, was likewise fashioned into a grimacing skull, the eyes glowing bright red. The choral servitors fell silent, the only sound being the steady footsteps of the chaplain as he walked to stand next to Tilious. His face was inscrutable, the skull mask of his helmet a grim portrait.

Saturion stood before the company, hands clasped behind his back. His voice boomed out his voice deeper and more resonant thanks to his skull helm. The sound easily carried out across the barracks.

"My brothers...today we are to bring war to the people of the world below, to bring fiery retribution to any that dare stand against the great crusade!"

Saturion hefted his crozarius, the massive two handed mace a lethal and potent symbol of his office as chaplain. The head was shaped into a two headed eagle, the symbol of the imperium. He swept it over the gathered warriors. "We are the Angels of death! Our presence here brings doom to the enemy below!"

"We are the wrath of the Emperor made manifest!" The gathered warriors intoned in one booming voice, Tilious' own joining them. "His will made flesh! None may stand before us!"

Saturion hefted his weapon high over his head, his voice laced with righteous zeal.

"For Sanguinius!"

Every warrior gathered smashed their left fist onto their breastplate, the sound crashing through the hold like thunder.

"For the Emperor!" They roared shaking the room with their zeal.

As one they turned, heading for the embarkation deck. The barracks had been huge, but the embarkation deck was massive on a whole new scale. Scores of thunderhawks and stormbirds sat ready to depart. Dozens of predator tanks, rhino transports, and land raiders sat idle, waiting only the order to launch. Thousands of deckhands and servitors ran about as they finished their final checks and arming procedures. Catwalks ran above the massive chamber, the ceiling arching above them and all but hidden in shadow. Over five hundred Astartes had been tasked with bringing the world below into compliance, five full companies. Tilious' first company, along with Ronarious, had the honor of leading the assault that would break the fortress guarding the planetary capital. The seventh and ninth companies would assault the main shipping and space ports on the planet, while the third company would be a mobile reserve and reactionary force. Should the lyrans attempt to counter attack the third would deploy via drop pod to disrupt it.

Land raiders stood waiting for the warriors of the first, as no other transport could ferry the mighty terminators, the company broke into squads to board the waiting tanks. The land raiders themselves rolled forward onto massive drop ships, their pilots already running through their final checklist's before launch.

Ronarius watched his men embark onto the waiting rhinos, his own warriors clad in the standard Mark IV plate that most of the legions were equipped with. While the Mark IV plate did not offer the same level of protection as the tactical dreadnought armor, its mobility was far greater, and Ronarious prized mobility in combat above all else. Whirlwind missile artillery would be accompanying the second, along with lascannon equipped predator tanks. He sighed as he watched, his patrician features twisting momentarily in a look of great pity. Running a hand through his hair, trimmed short enough that you could only just detect traces of yellow on his skull, he turned to Osturi.

Osturi was squad leader of the first squad in Ronarious' company, and second in command of the company. Similar in build to Ronarious himself, Osturi was the exemplar of the typical astartes. Over seven feet tall and almost five feet across in the chest, his muscles honed to perfection through combat and rigorous training. His features were regal, like the Homeric heros of old. Like most of the legion, and Ronarious himself, he was an initiate from Baal, the home world of their primarch. He watched his captain run his hand through his hair, sympathizing with him.

No human should ever have to face the might of the space marines in combat.

"We bring death to this world Osturi, but the primarch, in his wisdom, would not have it a slaughter. I'm ordered to transmit one last plea for sanity, to give the people below one last chance to surrender. The second holds fire until I give the order, understood?"

Osturi bowed his head. "Understood sir."

Ronarius fitted his helm, dismissing Osturi as the helm auto adjusted for a moment before integrating with his armor, sealing the suit. As he turned to head into the waiting transport he could not help but feel a moment of pity for the people below. Taking his designated seat he stowed his bolter overhead, blinking once to open his built in vox unit, opening a channel to the driver.

"Loaded, proceed to transport."

"At once my lord." The pilot replied respectfully.

The Rhino accelerated smoothly, the driver expertly navigating his way through the maze of warriors and equipment until they reached their designated Thunderhawk. Driving underneath it he signaled the pilot, hydraulic clamps lowering and secured the rhino to the belly of the Thunderhawk, further docking clamps hissing into position to hold the vehicle in flight. Once loaded the craft edged forwards on its launch rails, first in line with dozens of other craft awaiting the order to launch.

Ronarius blinked over to Tilious' channel.

"The Second is loaded and prepared to launch sir." He reported dutifully to the commander of the 1st..

"Acknowledged...your humours sound out of balance brother. What troubles you?"

Ronarious chuckled quietly. "You know what troubles me. I'm loath to ever bring our might to bear against our cousins amongst the stars. Not all of us are as blood thirsty as Angron's berserkers you know."

"Sympathetic to the last eh? As you should be. The world below has no idea what is about to be unleashed upon them."

Tilious laughed then, the deep voice echoing inside Ronarious' helm. "We were made for this war brother. Transmit your plea for surrender."

On the planet below Kim was hurriedly making her way down the hallways of the central command center of the capital, soldiers snapping to attention as she passed them. Officers cap nestled in the crook of her right arm Kim saluted in passing, her fiery mane of red hair trailing behind her as she walked. The command center was well constructed, steel reinforced concrete making up the vast bulk of the structure. Murals of previous conflicts, the invasion of 345, the little gap campaign, and even a mural of herself leading her howling banshees to victory in the battle of the Urals, lining the hallway leading up to the war room. She stopped for a moment, blanching slightly at the figure of herself depicted in the mural. The artist certainly had been...generous with certain portions of her anatomy.

Shaking her head she pushed open the war room door, moving briskly to the round table dominating the center of the room and sitting in her chair immediately activating her terminal.

Several high ranking officers of the Lyran army were present, most nodding to her as she sat. The high chancellor, or at least a holograph of him, was already speaking.

"And that is why me must not, we cannot, allow our guard to slip for a moment. While the enemy has retreated for the moment we must maintain our vigilance, and continue the supplies moving to the front."

Kim leaned over slightly to her right, keeping her voice low.

"What did I miss?"

General Vough, a heavy set man with a truly impressive handle bar mustache, leaned in slightly.

"The High Chancellor has been outlining the continuation of the war effort, pushing all of us to maintain our vigil and.."

A squeal of static echoed over the speakers of the room, causing everyone to flinch in pain. The hologram of the chancellor went silent as a hard voice, masculine and deep, came over the speakers.

"By the will of my Primarch. I am offering you all a last chance to surrender. You will not suffer repercussions for your resistance, your populace will not be harmed."

Everyone stared for a moment, a look of bewilderment coming over their faces. The chancellor cleared his throat before speaking.  
.

"I am High Chancellor Micheal Griffon...to whom am I speaking?"

The war room was dead silent. Kim leaned forward in her seat, listening intently. They had beat off everything the imperium had sent at them so far...why the sudden order of surrender?

Why announce their intentions at all?

"I am Ronarious, captain of the second company of the Blood Angles. You and your world face annihilation should you continue this conflict. I urge you to surrender now, spare your people the coming storm."

Kim and every officer in the room scowled, their own expressions mirroring the Chancellors. Annihilation indeed.

"As we told Lord General...Bramas? Yes, that was his name. As we've said before we have no intention of joining your so called Great Crusade. You attacked our planet without provocation, killed thousands of our troops, and now you dare threaten us further?"

The chancellor drew himself up to his full height, his face set like stone.

"No. We will never surrender to the likes of you."

Kim felt an enormous sense of pride at that moment. She was proud of her Chancellor's defiant words, proud of her planet.

"I will not offer again. Surrender now, or face the wrath of the Imperial Asartes."

Kim growled low in her throat, red faced. The medals on her chest clinking together as she jumped to her feet, her chair crashing to the ground.

"You listen here Ronarian or whatever your name is, you don't scare us! I swear, here and now, that the people of Lyra will never be ruled by a foreign power! Tell THAT to your primarch!" Kim's chest heaved with the force of her ire, only dimly becoming aware of the thunderous applause that followed her proclamation. She grinned sheepishly, righting her chair before sitting down. The chancellor smiled down at her, clapping himself before waving his hands to calm the room.

The voice came again, hard as stone, sending a chill down the spine of everyone gathered.

"So be it."

Ronarious cut the vox, allowing a moment to compose himself before opening a channel to his primarch, Sanguinius. "They have refused my lord."

Sanguinius, standing in his own storm bird with the Seraphim, sighed deeply. His armor was resplendent, deep red chased with silver. Each piece had been crafted with a masters eye, hand forged by the Emperor's own armorers. A gold halo sat above his head, a mighty sword, fully three meters long, was sheathed at his side, the scabbard covered in priceless gems. At his other hip was the illuminator, a plasma pistol of prodigious power. It also was exquisitely made, perhaps even more so, gifted to him from his brother primarch, Ferras Manus. Coal black tears had been painted on his face, signifying his reluctance to make war on their lost brethren.

He opened a channel to the combined companies, regret etched into his voice. "The Lyrans have refused to surrender...commence operations, and spare all that you can my sons."


End file.
